I met a girl once, she had french fries for hair and she was pretty legendary. I’ve been trying to explain her in words for a few days now.

But I don’t know how to write that kind of poem, that explains that it’s the smallest things about her I find the most amazing.

Like when she laughs, and her whole body becomes a wind chime, both in sound and sway

Like her walk, how it seems like her ankles are two old sagacious birds that  know some secrets about the ground that no one else does, so it seems like she’s almost flying.

How she has basquiat fingers for hips, and every time she moves it’s pure art.

How do I explain that every time she speaks, her lips become two ex-lovers that still have a thing for each other, constantly touching and stopping.

If I could, I would capture her smile in the ink of a pen. I would write sonnets and ballads about the arch in her back. I would write nursery rhymes about each line in her palm, let me read your future. Are you kissing me in it?

I guess sometimes words fail even the best of poets.

Sometimes,dreams don’t do reality justice.

For those that will never hear the wind chimes in her laugh, that will never see the feathers on her ankles.

The best I can say is that she’s pretty legendary.

When the sun starts snoozing its alarm too often, when autumn leaves are corpses under white caskets and the memories of her are nothing but distant car horns. I’d always remember french fries.